


The world might cut you down again

by TheSmellOfStorms



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Scars, alcohol tw, and Illya is being a spoilsport, because Napoleon and Illya are idiots, bed sharing, blood tw, meddling Gaby, mentions of child abuse, of course, our trio is on vacation in France, the blood is in a nightmare so no one is actually bleeding, which leads to Gaby and Napoleon pestering him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-16 17:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSmellOfStorms/pseuds/TheSmellOfStorms
Summary: “Peril, why don’t you come play chess outside? You could use a bit of sunlight.” Napoleon had little hope of convincing Illya, since Gaby had already tried and failed multiple times, but he could not keep quiet when he saw the dark shadows under Illya’s eyes and how pale his skin was.“No thank you, Cowboy. I will be fine.”Napoleon was expecting this answer, but he sighed in disappointment anyway.





	1. I can't fix what was done to you

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so here is the first part of a fic I wrote instead of working on my dissertation (I am a catastrophe, what can I say?). I hope you will like it ;) 
> 
> (The fic title and the chapter titles are taken from the song "small hands" by Radical Face, which I think fits this story quite well, check it out if you feel like it ;) also pretty much every Radical Face song is gold in my opinion, so there's that ^^)

Ever since U.N.C.L.E had been formed, its members had not got more than a single day off in between each job. After their fourth consecutive mission, Waverly had finally decided to grant his agents a full week of free time, which Gaby and Napoleon were ecstatic about. Illya, however, did not seem very enthusiastic. Then again, he never seemed enthusiastic about anything. 

He looked like he could have gone for a fifth mission without a break, and then a sixth after that. It was as if holidays were an inconvenience to him instead of a reward. 

It didn’t matter. Napoleon was sure Illya would let loose quickly and enjoy their vacation as much as Gaby and he would. They were going to stay at a small but cosy villa in the South of France, and the villa came with a swimming pool, which was a great bonus. Illya was peculiar, there was no denying that, but surely even he would be able to relax in such a place. 

Well, that was what Napoleon had first thought. But then, after a full day of Illya keeping to himself, staying inside and playing chess or reading while Gaby and Napoleon soaked in the sun by the swimming pool, the latter had to reconsider his previsions. 

“Peril, why don’t you come play chess outside? You could use a bit of sunlight.” Napoleon had little hope of convincing Illya, since Gaby had already tried and failed multiple times, but he could not keep quiet when he saw the dark shadows under Illya’s eyes and how pale his skin was. 

“No thank you, Cowboy. I will be fine.” 

Napoleon was expecting this answer, but he sighed in disappointment anyway. 

He stayed there a few more seconds, watching Illya closely. He had yet to depart from his black turtleneck sweater, even though it was about 85 degrees out (and the inside of the house was not much cooler). Napoleon was starting to worry. 

“Was there something else you wanted?” Illya asked, apparently annoyed that Napoleon kept staring at him. 

“Er… no. See you later.” 

Well, this had been awkward. 

Gaby gave him a questioning look when he came back outside, and Napoleon shook his head. No such luck, Illya would be harder to convince than they had previously predicted. 

“I don’t know why he’s so guarded. I wish he’d trust us more.” Gaby deplored. 

Napoleon didn’t answer, lost in thought. He was trying to come up with a plan… a plan to get Illya to open up, or at least to get him to stop avoiding them. 

*

It was becoming harder and harder for Illya to stay away from Napoleon and Gaby. They were relentless, constantly asking him to join them. At the pool, for dinner, for a walk in the nearest village, and so on. Illya was running out of excuses to decline, so he did not bother with giving reasons anymore. He wished they would just leave him alone. He was not asking for much, was he? 

They kept voicing their concern about the way he dressed, saying he would get heatstroke if he insisted on wearing his “hideous” (in Napoleon’s words) sweaters, so he made an effort and started wearing long-sleeved shirts. However, he refused to go for anything with less coverage, no matter how many remarks he got. If he yielded again and accepted to wear polos, soon they would insist he wore swimsuits, which was inacceptable. 

Also, Napoleon kept cooking, giving special attention to desserts. The trouble was that Illya couldn’t resist a good dessert, and Napoleon was an excellent cook, even if Illya wouldn’t be caught dead admitting that. He was fooling no one, anyway: there was no hiding the look of elation on his face each time he tasted something Napoleon had made, be it a lemon meringue pie, or chocolate mousse or anything else probably containing more sugar than was healthy. 

As a result, Illya ended up joining Napoleon and Gaby for lunch and dinner by day two. He could not believe his resolve had been so weak. 

Napoleon and Gaby were playing a dangerous game, and Illya was playing along for now. But, it wasn’t a game he could afford to lose. He didn’t want them to get too close, he didn’t want to get attached. He had not yet realised that it was already too late, that it had been for a while. 

On the third day of their little vacation, Illya fell asleep on the couch and woke up a few hours later. He noticed almost immediately that something was amiss: his father’s watch was gone, and he had an inkling he knew who was responsible for it. 

This time, he was going to kill Solo. 

*

When he saw Illya barging through the door and into the garden, Napoleon was torn between satisfaction and apprehension. He was glad he had finally managed to get Illya out of the house… the obvious anger on his face was another story though. Don’t get him wrong, riling Illya up was usually one of his favourite pastimes, but right now it could only be counterproductive. He was trying to gain Illya’s trust, after all. Of course, he knew stealing Illya’s precious watch was probably not the best way to achieve his goal, but he had run out of ideas. 

“Where is it, Cowboy?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said, while Gaby rolled her eyes. 

“Napoleon, do not play dumb!” Illya replied in a threatening tone.

“I still don’t get what you’re on about, but now that you’re here, take one of the reclining chairs and stay with us a while, why don’t you?” 

Illya just growled at that. He did come forward, though, making Napoleon think he had finally succeeded in convincing him to spend time with them. He was soon proved wrong, however: Illya walked straight to the chair Napoleon was lying on and tipped it with infuriating ease until its occupant fell into the pool. It happened so fast that Napoleon didn’t even have time to see it coming. 

He came back up immediately and passed a hand through his now wet and messy bangs, to get them away from his face. 

Illya was still standing by the pool, and Napoleon was disappointed upon seeing he was completely dry despite the huge splash Napoleon’s body had made when it had come into contact with the water. 

Napoleon opened his mouth but instantly forgot what he was about to say. Illya was still wearing too much clothing, and he was scowling, arms crossed over his chest, but the sun was hitting him just right. It made his blond hair shine and his eyes appear even bluer than they were. He almost looked soft, and Napoleon wished he would stop frowning so the aesthetic would be complete. Illya did no such thing, though. He just turned around and left Napoleon gaping at his retreating back like a fish out of water, which was terribly undignified.

Napoleon pulled himself out of the pool and retrieved Illya’s watch from the empty plant pot he had hidden it in. He then went after Illya. He found him sitting on the sofa with his elbows on his knees, pretending to be focused on his chess set. If the anger still present on his face was any clue, though, chess was far from his mind at the moment. 

“What do you want?” He questioned as he took note of Napoleon’s presence. 

“Look Peril… I just came to give your father’s watch back to you. It was childish of me to take it… I was just hoping you’d stay with us for a while.” 

He extended the watch, probably looking defeated, and Illya took it from his hand rather gently, his fingers brushing against Napoleon’s in the process. 

“Why does it matter to you?” He asked in a low voice, his eyes still fixed on the chess set. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why does it matter whether I am with you or not?” 

Napoleon was speechless once again. It was happening far too often for his taste when he was near Illya. 

“I… well, we’re teammates, we basically live with each other. Of course it matters.” 

*

Illya didn’t reply. Truth be told, he was surprised by Napoleon’s answer. He had never thought the American could want Illya’s company. If they were still working for rival agencies, he would have understood it better. Knowing your enemies and all that… but now that they both worked for U.N.C.L.E, he could not fathom was Solo’s point was. 

Besides, there was not much more to him than what was in his file. He had started KGB training at a young age, which had not left him much time for anything else. His company would not bring anything to Napoleon. They were already glued by the hip during missions, because they had no choice. Therefore, Illya thought Napoleon would prefer being on his own for once. 

Not that he would admit to it, but Illya did enjoy Napoleon’s company during missions, even though he had been a lone-wolf before working for U.N.C.L.E. He had learnt a lot about his fellow agent since they had met a few months before: everything that was in his file and much more. He knew that Napoleon was an early riser, that he loved art, especially impressionism, that he was a great cook, and that he was not a big fan of cold weather. He also knew what his hair looked like in the morning right after he woke up and the sound of his real laugh, the one that was pulled out of him by surprise, the one that showed genuine amusement. It was nothing like the fake one, the one he used on marks and in social venues. 

Sometimes, he wished he knew even more, because he was greedy and he wanted more than he deserved… he wanted everything. He wanted to know about Napoleon’s past, not what was in his file, but all the other details like his favourite books, his childhood friends, his relationship with his family. He wanted to know what it was like to be Napoleon’s friend, and sometimes he even wondered what it was like to be his lover, how soft his lips were, how his skin tasted, the noises he made in the throes of passion. 

Sadly, it was only wishful thinking. He would never know these things, partly because he didn’t want Napoleon to know anything about him in return, and mostly because there was no way Napoleon would willingly offer the information. 

“Look, Illya…” Napoleon started with a sigh, “You can trust us, you know… And, even if you don’t, we’re not asking you to give up your entire life story… we just want you to relax a little. It can’t be good for you to be so tightly wound up all the time.” 

That was the thing, though. Illya could not afford to relax, to let his guards down. KGB could take him back at any time, so he’d better not get used to the luxury of being granted down time and being allowed to indulge in any way. This was not the Russian way. 

However, when Napoleon got up from the couch, Illya could not help but hold him back, taking hold of his wrist. He did not know why he had done that, exactly. This was very foolish of him, but there was no going back now. 

“I am sorry. I will try to… relax.” The word sounded foreign on his tongue. 

“I could give you a back massage if you thought it could help.” 

Illya nearly whimpered at the offer, which was immensely embarrassing. Napoleon was only joking obviously, but it didn’t help hinder Illya’s overactive imagination in any way. Napoleon Solo was a menace to his sanity. 

“Thank you, but I will pass.” 

“You’re so predictable, Peril.” 

Illya rolled his eyes, but still followed Napoleon outside. Gaby stared at him for a whole minute without blinking, apparently very surprised Napoleon had finally got his way. Not that Illya would admit it, but maybe Napoleon was more persuasive than he was stubborn. Or maybe Illya was more easily persuaded where the insufferable American was concerned. He felt quite humiliated at the thought. 

*

On the fourth day, Illya exited his bedroom only covered in his bedsheet and Napoleon froze, keeping his half-eaten piece of toast halfway between his plate and his mouth. 

Illya glared at him, looking positively furious. 

“Where did you put my clothes?” 

“I… what? What clothes? I didn’t take any of your clothes.” Napoleon replied, stuttering indignantly. 

“Right, a thief must have come during the night to steal them.” Illya said sarcastically. And, honestly, Napoleon didn’t know before then that Illya had it in him to use irony. 

“I swear to you I have nothing to do with this…” 

Right when Napoleon finished talking, just before Illya was going to reply, Gaby entered the dining room, and both men turned their gaze on her. 

“Yes, I am the one who hid your clothes. Before you get mad, I bought you a swimsuit so you can start being reasonable and enjoying the nice weather before we go back to work.” Gaby declared, extending a bag to Illya. 

Napoleon watched the train wreck unfold without a word. Illya, seething with rage, teeth gritted and fingers twitching, ripped the bag from Gaby’s hand and left the room as quickly as he could, probably so he would not lose his temper. A few seconds later, they heard Illya’s bedroom door slam shut. 

“Well, that went well.” Napoleon commented drily. 

Gaby was biting her lip. “Well, I didn’t want it to come this far, but he left me no other choice.” 

Illya did not come out of his room that morning, and he refused to come out for lunch too. This was a serious situation. 

Napoleon decided to get a plate of food to Illya. He would hate for him to go hungry because he was being stubborn. Plus, Gaby was the one he was mad at, so Napoleon was safe… probably. 

He knocked on the door. There was no answer at first, and Napoleon was certain Illya would ignore him, but he ended up telling him to come in a few seconds later. 

He was sitting against the headboard of his bed with a book on his lap, and he was still wrapped in the white bedsheet. The bag containing the swimsuit Gaby had bought had been discarded at the foot of the wardrobe. 

“I brought you lunch.” 

“Thank you… You did not have to.” Illya sounded almost sheepish. 

“It’s fine. I wanted to. Look… if you want, I can lend you some of my clothes or help you find yours. I’d prefer you were with us in one of your hideous turtlenecks than locked up in here all day, half-naked.” 

“I… I do not want to bother you.” Illya looked down. 

“It doesn’t bother me, honestly.” 

Napoleon managed to convince Illya and went to get some clothes while he was eating. Less than fifteen minutes later, they were both outside, Napoleon in a swimsuit, and Illya in a long-sleeved shirt and linen pants slightly too short for him. 

“Napoleon, you’re a traitor.” Gaby declared without bite. She was probably happy Illya had finally accepted to get out of his room, even though he was still not up for a swim. 

“I think the traitor is the person who stole my clothes in the first place.” Illya grumbled before sitting on one of the garden chairs. 

*

Illya was fine for about half an hour, but then he started to feel warm. Too warm. No matter how many glasses of cold water he drank, he still couldn’t cool down sufficiently. He was trying to keep up pretences, but he was not fooling his co-workers, and soon Gaby started questioning his attitude once again. 

“I don’t get it! Why don’t you just quit being stubborn and take off your clothes? Does Russia consider wearing summer appropriate clothes a disgrace or something?”

Illya cleared his throat, embarrassed.

“That is not it…” 

“What is it then? You can tell us, we won’t judge… not much at least.” Napoleon assured. 

“I… I have scars.” 

It cost him a lot to admit it. It made him feel absurdly vulnerable, and his fellow agents still did not leave him alone after that. 

“We all have them.” 

“It is not the same.” 

“Oh come on, Peril, it can’t be that bad.” 

Illya sighed, frustrated. He got up and started stripping, unable to resist anymore. There was too much sun, not enough wind, he was sweating in the sweltering heat, not to mention he was fed up with Napoleon and Gaby’s curiosity. 

He had put on the swimsuit Gaby had bought under his pants, as if he already knew he would end up caving. He had never been so weak before working for U.N.C.L.E. Western decadence had most probably already taken its toll on him, there was no other explanation. 

“There, are you happy now?” He asked. He was only met by silence. He should have been happy to finally get some peace and quiet, but he knew what the silence was caused by, and could therefore only feel dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated ;) I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'll probably post the second chapter soon, since I already wrote most of it. Also, I hope my English was fine ^^ 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at https://runningtothesea.tumblr.com/, feel free to come and say hi :) 
> 
> Hugs and kisses folks!


	2. But I'll shield you from the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally there will be three chapters (or maybe four, I don't know for sure) instead of two ^^ 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy the second chapter :) and thanks a lot to those who left kudos and comments, it means a lot to me <3

Illya had been right, of course. His scars were not the same. There were a few cicatrised gunshot wounds and knife cuts which were not very different from the ones adorning Napoleon’s body, scars which were the traces of missions that had not gone exactly as planned, of fights with enemies, of inevitable incidents in their line of work. There were many other scars though, and they told a different story, a far darker one: long and deep lashes across the entire expanse of his back, as well as burn marks on his arms and chest, could only be the sign of abuse perpetrated by someone having had power over Illya at some point. 

“Who the fuck did this to you?” Napoleon asked, finally finding his voice. He paradoxically hoped Illya would say some spies had tortured him for information a few years ago. Any other explication would be worse. Illya’s reluctance to show them his scars unfortunately hinted at a cause other than his work as a KGB agent. 

Since Illya didn’t answer, Napoleon had to pry further: 

“Was it someone at the KGB? Was it Oleg?” 

Illya huffed a laugh, which did nothing to reassure Napoleon. 

“I wish.” 

“But…” 

“Can we not talk about it, please?” 

Napoleon did want to talk about it. He wanted to know who had dared hurt Illya. He would not insist, though: he had to respect Illya’s privacy. Gaby and he had disregarded it enough as it was in the last few days. 

“I’m so sorry Illya, I had no idea… and I shouldn’t have insisted like that.” Gaby apologised, getting up from her chair to hug Illya. 

He hugged her back, albeit a bit reluctantly. 

“It is okay. Do not get so worked up, it was a long time ago;” 

It didn’t help Napoleon to “not get worked up”, not at all. How old had Illya been exactly when this was done to him? 

When Gaby finally let go of him, Illya proceeded to put on sunscreen, which was a wise decision considering his skin tone and the little exposure to sunlight he had got until then. 

“You want help with your back?” Napoleon asked, already sure Illya would decline. 

* 

“It would be nice, yes, thank you.” Illya did not know what possessed him to accept Napoleon’s proposition. He kept surprising himself these days… maybe the sunlight and free time had gone to his head. Staying inactive for a long time had never been good for Illya. Or maybe Napoleon had gone to his head. It was probably a mix of all three causes. 

He gave the sunscreen to Napoleon and waited with bated breath for him to put his hands on his naked skin. What the hell had he agreed to? 

He had not let anyone see his scars, let alone touch them, in years. But now it was too late to hide anyway, so he might as well go all out. 

*

Napoleon had been so surprised by Illya’s answer that he had needed a few seconds to recover. He had hurried, then, lest the other man change his mind. 

When he finally touched him, Illya made a wounded noise at the back of his throat and Napoleon’s stomach tied up in knots. Illya’s skin was warm, and soft in between the scars. Napoleon wanted to pepper kisses all over his back, on every inch of raised skin. He wanted to worship Illya’s body until he forgot about the scars and how he had acquired them. He could do none of that, though. He was lucky that Illya had let him touch him at all, as it was. 

He spent far more time than necessary covering Illya’s back in sunscreen, stopping only when it was starting to become suspect.

The rest of the day was blissfully uneventful, and they finally all got some rest. 

Napoleon’s night was awful, however. He kept thinking about Illya and his scars, Illya and the walls he had built around himself, Illya and the way he was slowly starting to let Gaby and Napoleon in. Illya, Illya, Illya. 

And, as if it wasn’t enough, the air conditioning in his room was broken. All in all, he didn’t sleep a wink. 

He got up and went to the kitchen to get some water. He ran into Illya there, of course he did. 

“Hey, couldn’t sleep either?” 

Illya nodded and said: “I will not ask you why if you do not ask me either”, before going back to drinking his tea.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Peril, but I don’t mind saying why I couldn’t sleep. It’s just a problem with the AC.” It was only partly true, of course, but Illya couldn’t know that. 

“Oh… well you can sleep in my room, if you want. The bed is big enough.” 

Napoleon was once again bewildered by Illya. It was becoming a habit, and that could not do. 

“Er… okay. Thanks, Peril”. 

“No problem.” 

Napoleon drank some water while Illya finished his tea, and then they both went to Illya’s room. Napoleon was not sure he would sleep any better with the main reason of his insomnia lying down right down next to him, but he could not pass up on such an opportunity. 

Once they were both in bed, Napoleon had to open his big mouth, because he was an idiot who couldn’t simply enjoy what was given to him, apparently. 

“You didn’t tell me why you couldn’t sleep, by the way.” 

“I know, yes.” Illya sighed, apparently determined to leave it at that. 

“Right… Sorry I asked.” 

Illya sighed again. “I had a bad dream, it was nothing.”

Napoleon frowned. Illya was always so quick to dismiss his problems, as if his feelings didn’t matter.

“You can talk to me about it, if you want.” 

“I do not, really.” 

“Was it about how you got the scars?” Napoleon could not help it. He had to know. 

Illya groaned: “you are so infuriating.” 

“I know, it’s one of my best qualities.” 

“And conceited, at that.” 

Napoleon smiled in the dark. If Illya was still bantering, it meant he was not in such a bad state. 

*

Illya had not dreamt about how he got his scars. In fact, he had dreamt he had to go back to working for the KGB and, worse, to kill Napoleon. He had pulled the trigger right before waking up in a cold sweat, breathing hard and shaking all over. But, there was no way he would tell Napoleon that. It was a pretty damning nightmare, and on several levels. 

He didn’t feel like talking about the scars, either. He never did. He wouldn’t see the pity in Napoleon’s eyes, since it was dark in the room, but he would be able to imagine it perfectly well. 

Neither of them said anything after that, and Illya fell back asleep about an hour later. However, he didn’t get much rest, since Napoleon woke him up a few hours later. 

*

It had apparently been Napoleon’s turn to have a bad dream. He had dreamt of Illya. There had been blood, so much blood, seeping from wounds, down Illya’s back and to the floor, staining his feet as well as Napoleon’s. And then Illya’s legs had given out from under him and he had fallen to his knees. Napoleon had watched helplessly, not knowing what to do, until he had thankfully woken up. 

“What is it?” Illya asked, apparently disoriented, still half-asleep. 

“Nightmare… I’m sorry for waking you. You can go back to sleep.” 

His voice was hoarse, and he was probably not very convincing overall. It would have to do. 

He would have been fine if Illya had not acted on his concern by turning on the lamp on his bedside table. 

“Are you okay, Cowboy? You’re shaking like a leaf.” 

Illya placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Napoleon gave a full body shudder. 

“It’s just…” Napoleon’s voice broke, but it did not matter much: he didn’t know what he was going to say, anyway. 

Illya pulled him to his chest then, and wrapped him in his arms. The feel of his warm skin and steady breathing did bring Napoleon comfort. In normal circumstances, he probably would have felt ashamed, but now he only felt relieved. Illya had been dying in front of him in his dream less than five minutes ago, and now he was holding Napoleon, alive and breathing, his heart beating right under Napoleon’s ear. 

“It is okay, you are safe.” He whispered, caressing Napoleon’s hair. 

His own safety wasn’t what Napoleon’s had been concerned about. He usually would have kept that to himself, but Illya’s unexpected gentleness coaxed the words right out of him. 

“You were bleeding all over the place… there was so much blood, Illya, so much blood.” 

Illya’s hand stopped for a second, before it continued its course through Napoleon’s curls. 

“It was just a dream. I am fine, everything is fine.” He kissed Napoleon’s forehead and tightened his arms around him. 

Napoleon inhaled deeply, letting Illya’s scent calm him down, and he let his hands wander to Illya’s back, running over his scars, as if to make sure they were indeed scars and not open wounds as they had been in his God forsaken dream. 

Strangely enough, Illya didn’t protest and let him roam his back to his heart’s content. 

“I’m sorry, I’m being irrational.” 

“Do not apologise. Would you feel better if I told you about the scars?” 

“I… you don’t have to…” 

Learning about the origin of the scars would at least keep Napoleon from coming up with a dozen awful scenarios. The truth was probably not any less awful than his theories, but he would know for sure. 

“As you know, my father was sent to the gulag when I was eleven. I was taken from my mother and had to stay at an orphanage… it was not a nice place… especially when it came to the people taking care of the children… if we can even call it that. Anyway, it does not matter anymore, the place was shut down about three years ago.” 

“It still matters! They had no right, and it being in the past doesn’t make it insignificant. They hurt you, and you have the right to acknowledge it. You’re entitled to being angry.” 

Napoleon could feel Illya shrug against him. 

“It is pointless, Cowboy, just let it be.” 

Illya’s temper usually flared at the smallest of inconveniences, like Napoleon stealing his father’s watch to get a rise out of him, or someone insulting his mother, but when it came to the awful things that had been done to him, he apparently couldn’t bring himself to show any feeling other than disinterest. 

“I won’t, I’ll just be angry on your behalf.” 

“Fine, have it your way, you stubborn man.” 

Napoleon kept silent for a while. 

“Thank you, for telling me.” He finally said. 

“You are welcome.” 

Illya was still caressing Napoleon’s hair with his giant but surprisingly gentle hands, and Napoleon could not take it anymore. He raised his head from Illya’s chest and, ignoring his questioning look, softly kissed his lips. It only lasted a few seconds, which was not enough time for Illya to reciprocate. Considering the surprise etched upon his features, he had not even completely grasped what had just happened. 

“What was that for?” Illya asked in a whisper. 

“I just had to. You’re too precious.” 

Illya made a noncommittal noise in reply. 

“Go back to sleep Cowboy, you do not know what you are saying.” 

Napoleon was quite offended. Sure, he had not had the best night, and he might have been a bit out of it, but he knew what he wanted, and he wanted Illya. 

“Don’t patronize me…” Napoleon mumbled. It might have made him sound like a child, which was the opposite of what he was trying to achieve, but he was tired and slightly cranky. 

Maybe Illya had replied, but Napoleon had fallen asleep before he could hear it. 

When he woke up in the morning, Illya had already left the room. Napoleon got down the stairs and went to the garden, where Gaby was eating breakfast. 

“Where’s Illya?” 

Gaby, her mouth full of fresh bread, pointed to the swimming pool. 

Napoleon turned his head right on time to see Illya come out of the water. Seeing 6 feet 5 of glistening muscles only covered in tiny swim shorts this soon after getting up nearly killed Napoleon on the spot. 

Illya quickly towelled his hair dry, leaving it in disarray. He left the damp towel around his neck, not bothering to dry the rest of his body. Considering how hot and sunny it already was, he didn’t really need to. 

Napoleon was glad to see Illya was now trusting them enough to stop keeping his scars covered at all times. Napoleon had been afraid he would revert to wearing his long-sleeved shirts and turtleneck sweaters. 

“Good morning, Cowboy.” Illya greeted as he sat down. 

“Morning.” 

There was something weird about the situation, but Napoleon couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He sat down too and started eating breakfast, all the while keeping an eye on Illya, who was pouring milk in a glass. 

When Illya took a sip, it left a thin white line on his upper lip, which he proceeded to lick away. Napoleon was transfixed. Then, he suddenly remembered the feel of Illya’s lips against his and his brain short-circuited for a few seconds. He had kissed Illya last night! Or had it been a dream? No, there was no way… it had felt too real. Plus, Napoleon’s dreams usually weren’t this chaste. 

Illya had not waited for Napoleon to wake up, and he didn’t seem like he was planning on talking about what had happened. Napoleon got the message loud and clear: Illya wanted to pretend nothing had happened. He most probably didn’t reciprocate Napoleon’s feelings and was letting him down gently by refusing his advances without saying as much. It was a pretty decent thing to do, Napoleon had to give him that. 

If Illya didn’t feel like broaching the subject, then Napoleon wouldn’t say anything either.


	3. We will unravel all of the chains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the third (and probably last) chapter! I hope you enjoy it ;)

Soon, their week off was coming to an end and they had to go back to work. Illya had learnt a great many things during their trip: what having Napoleon in his arms and in his bed felt like, how soft his lips were, how caring he was underneath his mask of insouciance. 

Going back to normal after being so close to Napoleon was hard for Illya, but he wouldn’t trade what had happened for the world. At least he had his memories. And, if he had taken to staring at Napoleon in longing once in a while, well it wasn’t anyone’s business but his. He had yet to be called out about it, so he was almost certain no one had noticed anything. He found solace where he could. 

At least, his interactions with Napoleon were not as awkward as he had thought they would be. One could even say they were the same as before the night they had spent together in France. Illya had concluded that Napoleon had no recollection of their kiss. He had clearly not been in his right mind at the time, having just woken up from a nightmare. He had probably still been half-asleep and had acted on impulse. In the end, it didn’t really matter whether Napoleon remembered or not. The point was that he had either forgotten or was pretending he had, else he would have mentioned the kiss at some point. 

“Are you okay?” Gaby asked, arching an eyebrow. 

Illya started, almost dropping the book he was supposed to be reading. He had not expected to be addressed, lost in thought as he was. 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Okay… It’s just… you looked awfully distracted, that’s all.” Gaby sounded sceptical, at best. “I mean, you haven’t turned a single page in the last five minutes.”

“I…” Illya cleared his throat, trying to win time. “Something I read made me think, that is all.” 

He was quite satisfied with the lie he had just come up with. It was quite believable, wasn’t it?

“Right… If you say so.” 

Okay… Gaby was not so easy to convince. Still, she did not seem to know precisely what was bothering Illya, so he was fine for now. 

“Do you happen to know where Napoleon is?” 

Illya shook his head. “Probably seducing someone in a bar or something”, he then mumbled. 

They had just completed another mission and they would be going back to the U.N.C.L.E headquarter in the morning. Illya would not be surprised if Napoleon had decided to spend the night outside, in better company… 

He was proved wrong less than half an hour later, though, when Napoleon barged into their hotel suite with two bottles of vodka in hand. 

“Let’s get hammered!” 

Illya frowned, wondering what had gotten over his co-worker. Not that it was the first time he found Napoleon’s attitude peculiar, but still. 

“Good idea, bring it on.” Gaby said, rarely saying no to a good drink. And, knowing Napoleon, he had not bought the cheapest bottle in the liquor store. 

“What about you, Peril. Up for a drink?” 

“No thank you.” 

“You are no fun.” 

Illya rolled his eyes, choosing not to dignify that with an answer. 

Napoleon and Gaby did not wait any longer to start drinking. Soon, they were tipsy, and Illya took that as his cue to go to bed. He was tired, and seeing Napoleon with dishevelled curls and unfocused eyes was doing weird things to his heart. He’d end up laughing freely, drunk and relaxed, and Illya did not want to see that. Really, he did not. 

He got up but was prevented from leaving by Napoleon holding onto his right leg. 

“Come on, Peril. Stay a bit longer.” 

Illya was going to refuse, for his own sanity, but all fight left him when Napoleon let go of his leg in favour of taking his hand in both of his. He tugged him down softly and looked at him with pleading eyes. It was unfair on so many levels, Illya felt like screaming, or kissing Napoleon, or running out the door, or all three in that specific order. However, he did none of that, acting like a reasonable adult solely because someone had to and it would be neither Napoleon nor Gaby. He sat back down, and instantly regretted it when Napoleon put his head on his shoulder, half sprawling on top of him. 

His patience was being tested by Napoleon once again, and Illya wasn’t sure how much longer it could hold. 

He took a deep breath in order to calm down, which was a big mistake, as it filled his nostrils with the scent of Napoleon’s expensive cologne and hair product. He smelt faintly like the vodka he had been drinking, too… nothing good could come out of this. 

“Well, boys, I’ll leave you to it.” Gaby declared, wagging her eyebrows suggestively. This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. 

“Leave us to what? Really, there is nothing to leave us to… you do not have to go anywhere.” Illya said, his tone as close to frantic as it had ever been, his eyes probably begging her to stay. 

“Well I’m leaving you to nothing, then. I’m still leaving, though. I am knackered.” 

Illya was outraged Gaby would let him down in such a merciless way when he was clearly asking for help. Thanks for nothing. 

And now Napoleon was nuzzling his neck like a cat. Did he have no restraint at all? Dear Lord. 

“I think it’s time for you to go to bed.” 

“Mmh, only if you’re coming with me.” 

Illya, to his embarrassment, outright whined. Napoleon didn’t seem to notice, as he started peppering kisses up Illya’s neck: he was really trying to kill him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“What does it look like?” Napoleon replied, before going for Illya’s lips. 

Illya had to gather all his self-control to keep himself from kissing Napoleon back. 

He pushed Napoleon away as gently as he could and kept a hand on his chest in case he tried anything funny again. 

“You are drunk, and you are going to bed right now. Alone.” 

Napoleon pouted, but let Illya drag him to his room.

“I am not that drunk.” He protested when he was finally lying on his bed under the covers. 

“Sure.” Illya agreed, knowing better than to argue with Napoleon in this state. “Good night.” 

“Good night, Peril.” 

Illya sighed and finally went to his own bed. Unsurprisingly, he kept thinking about Napoleon, so sleep didn’t come easily to him. 

He just wished Napoleon was not kissing him only when he was out of it in one way or another. 

*

In the morning, Napoleon awoke with a minor headache and perfectly clear memory of the events that had taken place during the night. He had drunk enough to lose inhibition, but not enough to forget the embarrassing actions that this loss had led to. This was rather unfortunate. He remembered kissing Illya, which wasn’t bad in itself, but he also remembered the rejection that had followed, which was far less pleasant. He would just pretend nothing had happened… after all, it had worked well enough before. 

He understood quickly that it would be different this time: if they had managed to stave off awkwardness after their vacation in France, they weren’t so lucky with the fallout of Napoleon’s drunken kiss. In the following weeks, their conversations were stilted and they couldn’t look at each other in the eyes. It became so bad that they ended up avoiding each other. 

And Gaby wasn’t having it. 

“You have to be the stupidest people I have ever met.” 

“I am wounded.” Napoleon replied sarcastically, putting his hand over his heart as if Gaby’s insult had physically hurt him. 

“Napoleon, do something to clean up the mess you’ve made or I swear to God…” She didn’t bother ending her threat. She didn’t have to, Napoleon got the idea. 

“What the hell can I do?” 

“Well, I don’t know… Talk to Illya, for instance. You dumbass.” Gaby was apparently at the end of her wits, and Napoleon couldn’t blame her. 

“I don’t really think he wants to talk.” 

Gaby rolled her eyes so hard that Napoleon was surprised they didn’t fall off of their sockets. 

“Illya’s the one we’re talking about, of course he doesn’t want to talk. You’d better get him to anyway, or I’ll lock you up somewhere and won’t let you come out until you’ve made up.” 

“Fine, fine, I will.” 

“Right now.” 

“Okay, Jeez.” She was intransigent! 

Napoleon went straight to Illya’s room. He’d take awkwardness over Gaby’s wrath anytime. 

“You could have knocked.” Illya grumbled, not looking up from his game of chess. 

“Sorry about that… I was just eager to escape Gaby.” 

“I heard, yes.” 

“Did you also hear she wants us to talk?” 

Illya mumbled affirmatively, still not looking in Napoleon’s direction. This was going to take some work. 

“Look, Illya, I…” Napoleon paused, not knowing exactly where he was going with this. “I’m sorry for kissing you, twice… Well, no, actually that’s not accurate. I’m not sorry I kissed you the first time, but I’m sorry I kissed you when I was drunk… you had already rejected me once and I should have respected your wishes instead of trying to seduce you again.” 

Napoleon usually never rambled like that: Illya was messing with his head even though he had yet to say anything, really. Then again, maybe his silence was the reason of Napoleon’s anxiety. He had a feeling he had just defended himself in court and was waiting for the judge’s verdict. 

“You mean… you… you really wanted to kiss me?” Illya sounded confused and was staring at Napoleon with wide eyes. It was surprisingly endearing. 

“Well, yes, of course. Why else would I have?” 

“I do not know… I thought you had not meant to… You were half-asleep the first time, and drunk the second time… and you never talked about it after… so I thought maybe you had forgotten, or you regretted it.” He explained, fidgeting with his hands. 

“Well that’s not it. I didn’t say anything because it was clear you didn’t like me that way.” Napoleon clarified. 

“I do!” Illya exclaimed, getting up from his bed suddenly, sending a few chess pieces flying to the carpeted floor. 

Napoleon, shocked by the outburst and the meaning of Illya’s words, stayed silent, the gears turning in his head. 

“I did not kiss back because I did not want to take advantage. You were not in your right mind.” 

“Oh my God, Gaby is right: we truly are stupid!” Napoleon said in a whisper, equally horrified and delighted at the realisation. He had understood the situation all wrong, which was unacceptable, but Illya wanted him! Truth be told, it outshone the negative aspect by far. 

*

After marvelling over the recent turn of events, Napoleon put his hands on each side of Illya’s head and crashed their lips together. Illya barely had time to register he was kissing him before he stopped and took a step back. 

“Will you finally stop doing that?!” Illya complained. He would appreciate being given a chance to kiss back, at last. 

“Sorry, I…”

“Just shut up, Cowboy” he interrupted before joining their lips again. 

This kiss lasted a lot longer than the previous ones. Illya put one of his hands in Napoleon’s hair and lightly pulled on the curls as he deepened the kiss, while his other hand slid to the small of Napoleon’s back and pushed his body flush against his own. 

They only separated when they ran out of breath. 

“Fuck, I wish we had that talk sooner.” Napoleon was breathing loudly, his cheeks were flushed and his lips swollen from their kiss. He looked gorgeous, and there were so many things Illya wanted to do to him that he didn’t know where to start.

“We should make up for lost time.” He replied, voice husky, before claiming Napoleon’s lips again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, I hope you liked it and that my English was okay overall. I might write a fourth chapter, which would be smut, but I'm really not sure. I haven't written smut in quite a while, also I have a few deadlines coming up for uni, so I have some work to do (sadly ^^). We'll see :P, you can tell me if you'd be interested or not, anyway. 
> 
> Thanks again to the people who left kudos and/or comments! 
> 
> Hugs and kisses ;)


End file.
